The Day I Met the Joker
by Alan Animus
Summary: What would The Cat be like in the Nolan movies? The comic book character is sketchily formed at best, and has as many different back stories as The Joker, but only because writers cannot decide what to do with her.
1. Friday 2:45 am

I made a mad dash for train, which sat, idling and empty, at the platform. Even from here I could see the slowly closing doors, the shifting gears as it pulled forward…and away. "Stop!" I yelled desperately, praying futilely to whatever unseen god was nearby that the damn driver would wait for me. That's when I remembered that those things were automated. _Stupid Wayne Industries and their lack of personal touch, not,_ I conceded, _that a driver would have heard my desperate pleas anyway_. "Goddammit!" I yelled to the empty platform, taking advantage of the opportunity to fully articulate my current emotional state by swearing loudly and kicking a metal support beam. There wouldn't be another train for at least thirty minutes, and that was barring one of those 'disturbances' that shut down the night trains with annoying regularity. I looked at my watch. 2:47 am. I grumbled more vulgarities under my breath then resigned myself to my fate. Here I was, a woman alone on a rusting train platform in one of Gotham's shadier areas with absolutely nowhere to go. All the shops were closed and securely barred this time of night and the hot spots near here that _were _open weren't exactly the sort of places that I wanted to enter.

My choices were limited. I cracked my knuckles and slowly sat down on a bench, checking first to make sure that the graffiti sprawled all over it wasn't fresh. I closed my eyes and leaned back, weighing my options. Fights were probably still going on back at the club, but I didn't really want to push my luck by returning. Win some, lose some, mix it up, then run away with cash in your pocket. Those were my rules. Being too good or too bad got you noticed, and the people that bet on fights didn't like to think that they were being ripped off. I tapped the crumpled wad of hundred dollar bills in my pocket with detached pleasure. Of course I always made sure to win just a bit more that I lost. The danger in that, of course, was that by now some steroid junkie that I'd beat the living crap out of was probably drunk off his ass, injured in both pride and body, and had gathered a large group of his similarly drunk friends so that they might hunt me down and 'teach me a lesson' about fighting dumb, drunk males with inferiority issues. Nope. It was probably safest to stay here, at least I would hear them coming and be able to make a good run for it. I yawned and pulled out my notebook and pencil, which lay next to my bloodstained fighting gloves at the bottom of the duffle bag.

I was drawing the Joker. Gotham's homicidal psychopathic terrorist clown wannabe was, in my humble opinion, interesting enough to be drawn. Even since he had shown up a year ago, making insane threats and then acting on them with disturbing success, the entire city had become an even bigger metal mound of human suffering and chaos. There was a great deal of speculation over who exactly was responsible for the many crimes attributed to him, since some of them had been committed while he was locked away, but overall I didn't doubt that he had a couple of fingerprints on all of those cases. The dude had spurned the mob, taken over most of Gotham's crime lord groups, blown up the police station, and nearly destroyed half the city all in a matter of months. I still wasn't sure if he hadn't destroyed the city, since now everyone lived in a state of abject terror and distrust, but the point was that he was insane, but he was smart too, and insane smart people freaked me out to no end. You never knew what they were going to do but you did know that, when they did it, they would probably do it very well.

The Joker also had the sort of manic determination for his cause that drew followers to him like moths to a raging bonfire. His crew consisted of a great deal of the crazies freed from Arkham Asylum, but nothing seemed to stop regular people from joining him as well. Young adults in general had a morbid fascination with his brand of chaos. They dressed up like him, they spray painted smiles and ha ha ha's all over Gotham, they talked about him in hushed whispers and discussed his inexplicable intentions over coffee at Starbucks. It was madness. They loved the idea of destruction for the sake of destruction; they liked seeing the fear in their parent's eyes, and, as long as the madness didn't directly affect them, they were all too happy to worship him from a distance like some war god.

There were those that did directly join the Joker. I knew a few of them. Lost kids with no purpose in their lives and the belief that this nut job could somehow fill the void. None of them ever seemed to understand that the Joker didn't really care about them, their sob stories, or their need for an outlet. They just wanted to be part of something greater than themselves, even if that something made no sense to any of them, and probably made no sense to the Joker either.

That was why I had to draw the Joker. Not out of some sort of angsty villain worship, not because I thought he was cool, but because he was something real that represented something that wasn't physically real. I closed my eyes and pictured the now famous face, plastered on every T.V. screen in Gotham. The horrible scars, the black eyes, and the crazed smile of utmost sadistic mirth were common fodder for the 6 o'clock now that Joker had escaped police custody again and was once more loose in the city. Everyone was on edge, waiting for him to resurface, waiting for something to blow… My pencil flew over the page, the drawing illuminated only by the hazy, florescent glow of the dying lights above me.

Then there was the Batman. Now there was someone with problems if I ever saw one. The guy was obviously trapped in some sort of childhood fantasy of being a superhero. He seemed to truly believe that in real life the good guys could always save the day and that, at the end of the show, he'd be able to ride off into the sunset. I had to admit that they guy had skills and class though. And money. Lots of money. Enough to buy all that fancy gear and enough to pay lip service to the police, which he surely had to be doing to keep up this charade.

I was a bit hesitant to believe the stories that he had killed off the dirty cops that aided the Joker in capturing the DA Harvey Dent and his little girlfriend. Batman just seemed to be too into his whole superhero fantasy to be able to actually kill someone in cold blood. It didn't fit with his usual pattern of just beating people to within an inch of their lives then hauling them in to be arrested. This seemed to be profound enough to strike terror into the heart of Gotham's underbelly, no killing necessary. I sighed. As a tiny part of Gotham's underbelly I was rather prone to think of the Batman as a nuisance who took care of the upper level criminals, the guys that paid me, but didn't bother with little lower level freaks like me.

I looked at my drawing. The Joker stood, arms crossed and grinning, holding a gun with a little BANG! sign hanging out the from the front of its smoking tip. It looked like something ridiculous from a comic book. I sighed and erased the BANG! sign, leaving the smoking gun in the Joker's hand.

"That's pretty good." Said a slow, slimy voice from somewhere behind my right shoulder. To my credit, I didn't jump out of my skin and run away screaming into the night, but I did grit my teeth and tighten all my muscles in shock. _How in the bloody hell had this guy snuck up on me?_

"You should put the little sign back though." The owner of the voice giggled. It was one of the most disturbing things that I'd ever heard. "I liked that part."

I relaxed and slowed my breathing, preparing myself for a fight. My right hand tightened on the pencil while the left inched slowly toward the switchblade in my pocket. I was a scrappy, dirty little fighter, and whoever this guy was he was going to get a knife in his gut and a pencil to the eye if he didn't back up immediately.

"Um. Thanks." I said, not turning around, my pencil frozen on the page, my eyes staring into the sunken eyes of my drawing. I was trying desperately to send this creeper the mental vibe of back off or his insides would become his outsides but he didn't seem to be getting the message.

"I have...what you might call… a proposal." He said, sliding around to sit next to me on the bench. He stank of cheap cologne, sweat, blood, and…something else that I couldn't place. I resisted the urge to shudder and continued to stare at my drawing. My left hand had locked onto the hilt of my knife and my breathing got slower and slower as I prepared to strike the instant this guy made a move.

"I was watching you tonight. You're a good fighter. I need more of those. This city seems to be having a shortage of smart, competent people." He paused, presumably to look over at me, because I could feel him staring. "I suppose that it isn't entirely their fault that they're all out of their tiny. Little. Minds. Hah Eh he." He coughed. "At any rate… I've heard good things about you. They all tell me you are the best of the best, that you can find things for me, that you somehow manage to procure even the most heavily guarded items. I figure, this city is mine, and you are part of this city, therefore you are mine, so my proposal is this: You work for me," he paused, tapping his fingers on his thighs. His hands were stained with white paint, dirt, and what might, conceivably, have been blood. "and I won't kill you."

I blinked, taking that in.

"I'll let you think it over for a bit, can't rush decisions like this you know." He stood up and laughed. The sound was high pitched and manic, and I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end.

"Here's my card." He said, dropping something in front of me. "Call me when you've made your choice."

I swallowed and stared at the joker card sitting on top of my Joker drawing.

"I'll be watching you." He said in a singsong voice, then laughed again.


	2. Friday 3:00 am

I sprang quickly to my feet, spinning around and spilling loose pieces of drawing paper across the pavement, my switchblade flying open with a satisfying click. The man standing in front of me smirked. There was only a bench and a few feet between us and I took slow, even breaths as I studied him. His face was clear of the trademark make-up, which, oddly enough, only made the facial scars more distinct and horrible looking since they were now part of an actual human rather than a costume. His long, greasy yellow-green hair was pulled back tightly underneath a baseball cap, but a few loose strands had escaped and dropped down over his eyes. He blinked out at me and smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. I tilted my head to one side and stared at him, mentally subtracting the scars and teeth and hair and coming to the disturbing conclusion that the Joker was actually a lot younger than he looked and that, if not for the physical and mental deformities, he had the potential to be rather attractive.

"It's not polite to stare." He said, breaking into my scattered thoughts. "It's the scars, right? Everyone wants to know about those. Everyone wants to stare." I took an involuntary step backwards as his whole persona suddenly shifted, his shoulders hunched, his eyes darkened, and his voice became a menacing purr. "I don't like it when people stare." He said, then preceded to stare at me, his eyes boring into mine.

"Don't talk to me about scars." I said, returning the stare and surprising myself by speaking with a level of clarity and volume that showed no trace of my inner fear. I let my pencil drop to the ground and tossed the knife from my left to my right hand for effect.

"Rrrright." The Joker said, putting emphasis on the t. "Put that knife down now girly. Don't want anyone losing an eye. Heh heh."

"The only one who would lose anything in a fight would be you, so back off." I growled, putting a little false bravado into my speech. This was a game after all and I could afford to be a bit showy. All fights were part physical strength and part mental aerobics, so it was no surprise that a good combination of both were required to win, or at least to get away with your hide mostly intact. Of course, I was fairly certain that my normal tactics would be useless against this creep but that wouldn't stop me from trying.

"Heheh… you're like a cat with all its fur puffed out." Joker giggled, then caught himself and took on a business-like tone. "It's a shame that you don't want to work for me." He rolled his eyes, looking me up and down. "There is pressure from the higher ups to bring on more women. Equal opportunity feminism crap." He made an annoyed clicking sound with his tongue, than burst out laughing. He stopped when he realized that I wasn't laughing with him.

"I see that the humor is lost on you. We're going to have to fix that. I simply refuse to work with someone who has no sense of humor." He grinned evilly. "You just don't smiiile enough."

"I smile plenty. Thanks." I bared my teeth at him in my own snarling grin.

The Joker shrugged. "Consider my offer. I'll get back to you in a week. Oh, and don't consider sneaking off. I'll know, and I'll find you." He tapped his head with one finger and grinned happily at me before he spun off. He hurried quickly away, running light and fast on the balls of his feet as though he were afraid that I was going to chase him. I actually considered it for a brief second, then shook my head, laughing softly. I was in a state of disbelief. Things like this just didn't happen in real life, it was insane.

I sighed and bent down to retrieve the joker card, bending the edges and cupping it tightly in my hand. I slowly turned it over. A small typed note written right in the margin of the card read: "here kitty kitty kitty". I bit my lip. The Joker knew who I was.


	3. Friday 3:30am Saturday 7:45am

More writing More writing...

* * *

I caught the next train into Midtown, where I lived in a tiny apartment overlooking the Merchant river. As I unlocked the door to my apartment I wondered if the Joker had been in there. I sniffed the air, trying to see if I could sense any lingering remnants of his pungent scent. I laughed at myself. I was a lot of things, but I was also human, and no amount of sniffing was going to tell me if the Joker had been nosing around my living space. It wasn't worth it to get worked up or nervous about something that I couldn't change anyway.

As I dumped my duffle bag out on the bed my two cats, Bast and Isis, came to greet me, winding around my legs and purring like little engines. I normally fed them extra tasty treats when I got home late, and they knew it, but I had more important matters to take care of first.

I slowly eased off my coat, sweater, and ripped t-shirt, and stood in front of the mirror in my sports bra, frowning at my reflection. Dark hair, fierce green eyes and new purple bruises stood out against my pale, scarred skin. I was literally covered in scars. Tiny precise knife cuts and longer slashes danced side by side across my body in ordered patterns that wound around my back and torso. But I wasn't concerned with those, they were nothing new. I turned my attention to the bloody, makeshift bandage wrapped around my upper arm.

Some guy had tried to jump me when I got out of the club. His switchblade missed my throat by mere inches, but caught on my arm as I spun away. I unwrapped the bit of torn shirt and inspected the damage. The wound was deep, but clean, nothing a couple of stitches wouldn't fix, but it would leave a scar. I sighed and made my way into the bathroom, Bast and Isis trailing along behind. They both jumped up on the edge of the bathtub and watched me with wide, unblinking eyes. I opened the drawer and pulled out my first aid kit, setting the necessary materials on the countertop. "I don't suppose that either of you could do a better job." I grumbled at them, but they didn't respond. I laughed and set to work cleaning out the wound and stitching my arm back up, gritting my teeth and growling vague curse words under my breath when the pain got to be a bit much.

When I was done the cats started up their twin mewing again, and I walked into the kitchen to prepare some sardines for their majesties. A shower and a couple hours of sleep later found me once again riding the train, this time to go to my respectable day job. I worked for Gotham Charities as a member of event advertisement. At my most basic level I was a graphic designer who came up with all of the art and advertising for the group's various charity events. On a more complex level I was supposed to help the group develop good relationships with the charity's wealthiest donors to ensure their participation in our many galas and plate dinners. I was part of a small, talented team of artists and media professionals all questing for donor money. It was a good job that allowed me to meet some of Gotham's wealthiest citizens and it was a far cry from my adventurous night life, the perfect cover.

"Another late night Selina?" I blinked at the computer screen and turned to face my co-worker Dillon, who was sitting on the edge of my desk, his head propped up with one hand. I grunted a non-committal response. "Someday you'll tell me where you go." He said, leering suggestively at me. "You just leave soooo much to my imagination." He grinned and hopped off my desk. "Anyway, don't let whatever it is interfere with your work, we've only got six days until the Big One and Kelly has been on my ass all day about the possibility that Bruce Wayne might show up, so if you would please just attempt to get in touch with his people I would be overjoyed, nay, ecstatic." He bounced a little, then batted his eyes at me. "Please please? We all know you are the best at catching the big fish. You just charm them right out of the water."

I sighed and rolled my eyes playfully. "I do all this work for you, I design the posters and work on the logos and now you want me to just call up the richest man in Gotham and invite him to our big event?"

"Exactly!" Dill yelped, "I knew you would play ball. A team player that Selina Kyle, that is what I've always said. Besides, the Wayne kid could always use a bit of positive publicity. Gotham wants to know that its wealthiest members are doing something, anything to help make it a better place. You know what I mean. So, are you in?"

I shook my head. "I guess it can't hurt to try. The guy certainly isn't hurting for money and who wouldn't want to eat a fancy dinner in the Gotham Museum? I'll work on it for you."

Dillon grinned happily. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Here is the number." He dropped a paper on my desk before racing off. "Come and find me if you get anything." He called over his shoulder.

I stared thoughtfully down at the number. Then back at my computer screen. I brought up the file I'd been reading. The Joker's file. I'd hacked into the police database and retrieved it, but so far nothing immediately useful had come up. It was full of interesting things, but none could really help me at the moment. I clicked out of the file and I looked back down at the number, then picked up my phone and dialed it. Dillon immediately reappeared by my side, gazing at me with wide, puppy eyes. "You're calling him now?" he mouthed. I nodded and shrugged as I listened to the phone ring. On the last ring someone picked up.

"Hello?"


	4. Saturday 9:22 am

Kinda short...

_On the last ring someone picked up._

_"Hello?"_

* * *

"Hello, my name is Selina Kyle and I am calling on behalf of Gotham Charities. We would like to extend a special invitation to Bruce Wayne to our main charity event, which is being hosted next Friday in conjunction with Gotham Museum's sponsorship of the popular Body Worlds exhibit. Could you direct me to someone who could decline or accept this invitation for him?" I took an even breath and held it. Next to me Dillon twitched with suppressed excitement.

"Well," the voice said, "I suppose that I would be the best person to accept or decline, seeing as I am Bruce Wayne."

I blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly. "Oh! I apologize Mr. Wayne! I was unaware that I had been given a private line." I glared at Dillon and he shook his head vigorously back and forth, holding out his arms as if to say, "Don't look at me! It's not my fault!"

The voice on the other end laughed. "Don't worry. This is the right number. Sometimes I like to pick up the phones when I'm in the office. Brings a bit of fun into my otherwise boring day."

I didn't quite know how to respond to that, I couldn't tell if he was making fun of me or not. I cleared my throat and continued. "Well then, Mr. Wayne, I hope that you see what a benefit it would be to your public persona if you attended one of our events. Plus," I added, "why turn down a free meal? I know that we are a new organization, but we are really trying to make Gotham a better place."

"I certainly hope so." Wayne said. "Will you be there?"

I blinked. "I…well.. yes. I will be attending the event."

"Good. Save me a spot at your table then. No sense mingling with the annoying rich pricks that will turn up once they find out I'm going. Is that all?"

A couple minutes of explanation later I hung up the phone and stared at Dillon, who was shaking his head in disbelief. "This party is going to be awesome," he said.

"Right. Awesome," I echoed, my mind working furiously. I had made plans for Friday night. Plans that had been in the making since I'd taken this job. Plans that would not be interrupted by Bruce Wayne, or even by the Joker himself. One way or another, come Friday night the museum would be missing an artifact.


End file.
